


Every Step of the Way, Every Second of the Day

by ohhotdans



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Post Season 9, Pre IWTB, Trauma, Unhealthy Sex, i was sad when i wrote this i love scully, monica reyes mentioned, mulder is oblivious, scully is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotdans/pseuds/ohhotdans
Summary: This is the first thing I've really written since I left college in February 2020, so please be gentle!Some time after the being fugitives thrill wore off, Scully has fallen into an unhealthy and miserable cycle on the road. This fic details a small window of time from Scully's perspective.This is really sad, don't be mad, I love Scully so much!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Every Step of the Way, Every Second of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I want to reiterate that this fic is probably trigger heavy. I was very in my feelings when I was writing it (to distract myself from my own feelings) so that is why it is so sad! If I missed any sort of warning PLEASE let me know, I'm new at this. Let me know what you think! I haven't written fanfiction since I was 13.

It had been some time since they laid in that hotel room, talking, attempting to gaze into the future and what it held. They professed their love for each other, to a degree that had been left unsaid for years. It seemed that in this new life “on the road'' there would be a chance to domesticate- to have some semblance of normal, which was a far cry from the life they had been living. As he promised to be there for her and protect her and love her every step of the way and second of the day (she remembered that quote correctly, and it would sting in the back of the head many instances going forward), her heart sang and hoped that everything she had gone through would make this new era of her life with Mulder worth it. She sees herself as an independent woman, but the biases and walls built up by her upbringing can delude her from the truth. Oh, the truth. In that instance, hands entwined with Mulder, lying on a motel bed and building fragile castles for the future together, her naivety took over. When she woke up, she brushed her fingers across the surface of the dresser absentmindedly. In the bathroom, with the light on, they were covered in dust. Her hair? Dust. Looking in the mirror, making eye contact with herself, her world tilted sideways as she, Dana Katherine Scully, realized this was not going to be what she bargained for. This was not the ending she was promised in the fairytales Melissa read to her. 

She sat curled in the passenger seat of an outdated compact car, driving somewhere in northern Montana or Idaho. Cult country. Couldn’t be much worse than where I am now! She thought. Mulder was at the helm, driving nervously after shooing Scully out of the trailer they were renting in some Washington state backwoods town because he thought one of their new neighbors was being suspicious. “They put rocks near the lot line and had their lights on too late!” he had said. She had been working shelving books at a local library, and he was doing handiwork while continuing his research. As the greenery went by, Scully felt her familiar tension in her chest fall down into her stomach, knowing that her anxiety and stress from the abrupt location change had settled back into depression. She wrapped herself more tightly into the fetal position she was occupying and glanced over at Mulder. She could tell his thoughts were racing on and on about the neighbors, and who was possibly following them. Scully wondered how Mulder, the PhD in psychology could miss her signs of emotional failure. There were two answers that she had formed in their time on the road: he was so preoccupied with his cause and his paranoia and their safety to notice, or he has noticed and just doesn’t care. She had kept her hopes up for the first explanation for so long, but it was beginning to look like the second one was turning out to be true. After awhile longer, she turned to him and asked if they could stop at the next station. He said that there’s a town with a long term motel shortly ahead. The rest of the ride holds the same energy as the first— silence. 

When they get to the motel, it turns out to be made up of separate cottages. She waits in the car, hat on, gaze at the ground, for him to return with a key. Unlocking the door, he whispers “we’re safe”. Tears sting in her eyes and threaten to fall, but she knows better by now. If she cries, it’ll be a big deal and turn into him telling her how she did this all for her— she’s all he cares about. His touchstone, the mother of his son. The guilt. The William guilt. Again. So she just nods and heads to the bathroom. 

The cottage was nicely laid out, with a bathroom, kitchenette, couch and television, and bedroom. The bathroom and bedroom were both behind doors from the main area, which was a relief to Scully. Constant close proximity to Mulder only started problems for her. At Mulder's sign, she began to unpack her things. Jeans, t shirts, sweatshirts. Everything she owned seemed to have landed on a spectrum of browns. An inconspicuous color. Just what Mulder liked for being on the run. It’s ok, she had lost all sense of individuality long ago. 

Mulder asked if she wanted anything special for dinner— the desk clerk informed him of a small grocery store up ahead. She answered that she just wants “her usual”. As Scully sat on the couch alone, her head pounded. Playing with her shirt and biting her lip, the tears finally came, behind them breathless sobs. Until she heard the car door shut, she sat there. Then she bolted to the bathroom to start a shower and wash all the emotion away. 

Out of the shower, the tension still sat in her torso, but the outward show of upset was gone. Mulder greeted her with a kiss and bottle of Chardonnay. Just the bottle made her beat. After finding a glass (they have them in the same place at every motel!), she poured a considerable amount of wine into it. They only had one lamp on, to “not attract attention”, but the TV was flipped to a classic movie channel with the volume down. Mulder had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, while Scully drank her wine with carrots in front of her. She occasionally picked one up and then put it back down. Eating was not something she was into anymore. After her cancer, she had developed an unhealthy relationship with food and her body. In the grocery stores dotted along the backwards highways they live on, the Uber health food she exclusively ate wasn’t available. When her pudgy baby face didn’t return and her cancer went into remission, she became unconsciously obsessed with maintaining that look. The sickly one. She still felt that way, didn’t she? At first there were excuses she told herself, “the old me didn’t have control of her life, this one does!” or “if I eat well and stay the same as I am now, the x files can’t control me!” As a medical doctor and objective thinker, she knew these things weren’t true. She had some sort of eating disorder based on the need for control. But that was always pushed to the background as more important things came up. The only person who noticed it was Monica, who was also the only person to notice her emotionally struggling, and comforted her. Her mother was too busy being upset at her for giving up William or staying with Mulder or making wrong choices or any number of other things to see that her daughter was miserable and wasting away. All she had wanted was Melissa, but the x files had taken her too. Monica was like Melissa, which is why it was easier to open up to her. But that didn’t matter now. Even if she did see Monica, it was against Mulders rules to acknowledge anyone from the “old life”. So for now she just toyed with her carrots and downed as many glasses of Chardonnay as she could on an empty stomach without Mulder noticing. 

It was midnight when Mulder moved towards her and suggested that they head to bed. More wasted than she usually is on a day like today, she just stared back at him, the room spinning a bit. Visibly upset after glancing at the empty bottle and back to her, he asked “Scully, why do you always do this? Do you know how difficult it would be for me to get you out of here quickly if we had to go? You KNOW they’d kill you to torture me!” His voice getting louder. Astounded at a scolding she had gotten a hundred times before, her breath got faster and her eyes started to water. Instead of slinking away though, her anger rose to match Mulders. “Kill me?” she said. “They already TRIED to kill me SO MANY times and always failed! Sometimes I wish they had!” Stumbling up and screaming through tears, she yelled, “I can’t deal with this anymore! I want to go home! I want my mom! And William!” After the name of her child, she ran for the door and Mulder, though slightly unsteady from a few beers and the emotional impact of what was just said, was able to block it and grab her wrist before she got to the doorknob. She sank to her knees, crumpled on the floor, only her arm being held up by Mulders grip on her wrist. As she sobbed, he pulled her up into his embrace, comforting her with circles on her back and deep breaths. 

When she had calmed a bit, he pulled away from her to look her in the eyes. He said all the right things that he always does: she is his everything, the reason he lives, why he stays alive, his one and only home. All things she has grown tired of hearing in any scenario but this one. Soon enough, she feels loved and valued again, if only briefly, and leans in to kiss him. As with most other arguments, feet find their way into the bedroom to have a night of misplaced passion. In the early hours of the morning, as Scully watched the cool white light from the parking lot outside through the shades, she thinks about all of the trauma she has faced at the hands of Fox Mulder, the FBI, the X Files, and the United States Government. This moment, the moment that Dana Scully is living in right now, is a culmination of the pain. Her abduction. Cancer. Emily. William. Losing Mulder. Every other case along the way where her life was threatened. She gave up her baby boy. Growing nauseous, Scully did what she always does. Slip out of bed, tiptoe to the bathroom, run the sink, and throw up into the toilet. The alcohol, unpleasant thoughts and memories, and whatever else she had consumed all day would be gone. She knows if Mulder wakes up he could hear her. But he never comes. She flushes the toilet, turns off the sink, wraps a towel around her bare shoulders, and lays down in the tub. The ceramic is cool against her sweaty skin. She stares out of the tub, empty gaze, until she falls asleep. In the morning, Mulder will pick her up, move her back to bed, and cover her with a blanket. He’ll leave out a bagel and some juice, but knows she’ll probably spend the day in bed, crying as every last heartbreak of the past ten years reverberates in her brain. She hopes that maybe they’ll be able to stay here a little longer. She hopes, naively, that this will never happen again.


End file.
